“That M. Danglars speculates, whereas he never does.”
“Truly, madame, I recollect M. Debray told me — apropos, what is become of him? I have seen nothing of him the last three or four days.”
“Nor I,” said Madame Danglars; “but you began a sentence, sir, and did not finish.”
“Which?”
“M. Debray had told you” —
“Ah, yes; he told me it was you who sacrificed to the demon of speculation.”
“I was once very fond of it, but I do not indulge now.”
“Then you are wrong, madame. Fortune is precarious; and if I were a woman and fate had made me a banker’s wife, whatever might be my confidence in my husband’s good fortune, still in speculation you know there is great risk. Well, I would secure for myself a fortune independent of him, even if I acquired it by placing my interests in hands unknown to him.” Madame Danglars blushed, in spite of all her efforts. “Stay,” said Monte Cristo, as though he had not observed her confusion, “I have heard of a lucky hit that was made yesterday on the Neapolitan bonds.”
“I have none — nor have I ever possessed any; but really we have talked long enough of money, count, we are like two stockbrokers; have you heard how fate is persecuting the poor Villeforts?”
“What has happened?” said the count, simulating total ignorance.
“You know the Marquis of Saint-Meran died a few days after he had set out on his journey to Paris, and the marchioness a few days after her arrival?”
“Yes,” said Monte Cristo, “I have heard that; but, as Claudius said to Hamlet, ‘it is a law of nature; their fathers died before them, and they mourned their loss; they will die before their children, who will, in their turn, grieve for them.’”
“But that is not all.”
“Not all!”
“No; they were going to marry their daughter” —
“To M. Franz d’Epinay. Is it broken off?”
“Yesterday morning, it appears, Franz declined the honor.”
“Indeed? And is the reason known?”
“No.”
“How extraordinary! And how does M. de Villefort bear it?”
“As usual. Like a philosopher.” Danglars returned at this moment alone. “Well,” said the baroness, “do you leave M. Cavalcanti with your daughter?”
“And Mademoiselle d’Armilly,” said the banker; “do you consider her no one?” Then, turning to Monte Cristo, he said, “Prince Cavalcanti is a charming young man, is he not? But is he really a prince?”
“I will not answer for it,” said Monte Cristo. “His father was introduced to me as a marquis, so he ought to be a count; but I do not think he has much claim to that title.”
“Why?” said the banker. “If he is a prince, he is wrong not to maintain his rank; I do not like any one to deny his origin.”
“Oh, you are a thorough democrat,” said Monte Cristo, smiling.
“But do you see to what you are exposing yourself?” said the baroness. “If, perchance, M. de Morcerf came, he would find M. Cavalcanti in that room, where he, the betrothed of Eugenie, has never been admitted.”
“You may well say, perchance,” replied the banker; “for he comes so seldom, it would seem only chance that brings him.”
“But should he come and find that young man with your daughter, he might be displeased.”
“He? You are mistaken. M. Albert would not do us the honor to be jealous; he does not like Eugenie sufficiently. Besides, I care not for his displeasure.”
“Still, situated as we are” —
“Yes, do you know how we are situated? At his mother’s ball he danced once with Eugenie, and M. Cavalcanti three times, and he took no notice of it.” The valet announced the Vicomte Albert de Morcerf. The baroness rose hastily, and was going into the study, when Danglars stopped her. “Let her alone,” said he. She looked at him in amazement. Monte Cristo appeared to be unconscious of what passed. Albert entered, looking very handsome and in high spirits. He bowed politely to the baroness, familiarly to Danglars, and affectionately to Monte Cristo. Then turning to the baroness: “May I ask how Mademoiselle Danglars is?” said he.